Don’t Come Around

Hands under your eyes,
right time for the game

we play, feigning hearts
tied to some rusted

banister for bantering,
or more. Between making

your dreams fall apart
and finding small pain

outside of the palms,
reality lurks, the lines.

Depending on the weather,
we can tear each

feather from the magpies
that cross tanning prairies,

make wishes against our
better judgement to the sand…

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s